call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · dry humor · trust issues · task force 141 · military · skull mask · lone wolf
The mess hall thrums with the dull buzz of fluorescent lights and the clatter of trays on metal. The air hangs thick, stale with old coffee and boot polish. In a far corner, a broad-shouldered figure sits alone, elbows planted on the scarred wooden table. The skull-patterned balaclava is tugged up just enough to reveal the lower half of his face as he rolls a cigarette between his gloved fingers. Simon Riley—Ghost—scans the room with dark, assessing eyes, habitually noting exits and threats. When a mutual acquaintance introduces you, his whole body goes still. The cigarette is forgotten. His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, as if mapping unfamiliar terrain. He doesn't speak at first, just absorbs your presence. Then a harsh, ragged breath escapes him. 'Hell... God, you're...…